


3 Times I Told You I Loved You & 1 Time You Said It Back

by therogueheart



Series: Imported Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 3 Times - 1 Time, AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Cliche, Ends with Starker, F/M, Finding Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Multi, No Iron Man, Pepper Potts is Good, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Prompt Fill, Romance, Starker, Starker is Endgame, Tom Holland Spiderman, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tumblr Fic, lots of fluff, sad angst, slight angst, spiderant, winterspidershield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-15 00:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therogueheart/pseuds/therogueheart
Summary: Peter Parker confesses his love to Tony Stark three times. Once at ten, once at fifteen and once at twenty. Finally convinced that Tony will never love him back, Peter ventures out into a different path, desperate to find the love he seeks from someone else.But you know what they say about star-crossed lovers.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter meets the love of his life aged ten, lounging in the grass of a local park and devouring the Chemistry book that Aunt May got him for Christmas. A pair of glossy combat boots stop right besides his pink lemonade, a figure casting a dark shadow over his book.

Peter looked up slowly, scowling at the interruption. How was he supposed to study hard and become a world famous scientist if people kept interrupting him? The boots give way to skinny black jeans that clung to legs longer than Peter could ever hope for his to grow. The legs faded into a black t-shirt sporting a cat playing the drums, and then to the prettiest face Peter had ever seen.

“Page 58 is wrong, y’know” the boy commented casually, hands tucked into his jean pockets. Peter’s scowl deepened, and he stared for a moment longer before furiously flicking through the pages. Page 58 turned out to be on metals and their chemical properties. Peter scanned it, before looking up again.

“It’s a professional science book. It can’t be wrong. And even if it was, how would you know?” He asked, reaching for his lemonade and sipping. The boy actually laughed, soft and amused before crouching down, elbows braced on his thighs. One long finger tapped a single paragraph on the page.

“The book claims Tungsten to be the strongest natural metal, and Chromium to be the hardest. Both of those are wrong. The worlds strongest and hardest metal is one in the same: Vibranium”.

Peter frowned a little, reading the paragraph quickly as the boy spoke. Vibranium? That sounded made up. And he’d never heard of it before.

“You’re just making that up” he pouted, pushing away the boy’s hand. He chuckled again, low and soft and it made Peter’s tummy feel funny. All flippy, like he was on a rollercoaster.

“Am not” the boy shot back, teasing and mocking. Peter pouted harder, drawing his book closer. “Vibranium was discovered in the 1800′s, and is pretty much a secret outside of a select few Government organisations and my family; who have a big clump of it sitting in secure storage facility out in Antarctica” the boy remarked. It was Peter’s turn to laugh, now.

“You’re a big, fat liar” he dismissed, then frowned. “Wait. I’m not supposed to be talking to strangers. Go away before Aunt May makes me do the laundry again” he huffed, looking back down at his book. He missed the soft smile the boy gave in response, and missed the scent of aftershave as the boy got up and walked away.

One week later, Peter was back at the park, sprawled out on the grass with several packs of snacks and his Chemistry book. He’d brought a notebook this time, jotting down notes and little doodles to help him remember things. There was a science expo next month, and he was determined to be super smart and science to impress the important scientists there.

Something thunked into the grass before him and rolled, all the way through the grass until it bumped into the edge of his Chemistry book. Peter eyed it warily. It was a metal ball, about the size of a ping-pong ball. Bright silver and it looked really shiny, like it had been polished. Peter looked up further, and saw the boy from last week strolling towards him.

He walked all the way up and sat down opposite Peter, long legs crossing in the grass. Peter watched him the entire time, hand still paused mid-sentence. The boy was wearing dark grey jeans today, and a white shirt with an AC/DC logo across the chest. His head tipped, and he watched Peter with a soft, curious expression.

“Half a pound of Vibranium. Super-forged and polished into a perfect sphere, just for you” the boy remarked, pulling a lollipop out of one pocket and peeling off the wrapped. Peter looked down and after a moment he put down his pen, reaching for it. It felt light, for its weight, and the metal was cold, perfectly smooth to the touch.

“This is probably just steel or something” he pointed out, and the boy shrugged, sucking the lolly with a wet sound.

“You can do whatever you want to that, and it won’t break, scratch or dent. The only thing that can damage Vibranium is more Vibranium” the boy tossed back, taking the sphere from Peter’s hand and tossing it up and down like a regular ball. “You could take a chainsaw to this thing and all you’d get is sparks”.

He tossed the ball back to Peter, and they spent the next two hours going through his Chemistry book together. The boy turned out to be called _Tony_, and he was super smart. He was turning twenty next month. Peter worried a bit about talking to someone that much older, but Tony was sweet and _smart _and helped him to take notes.

Tony’s phone went off a little while later, and he checked it before pulling a face and looking across at Peter. “Well, I gotta go. But try to scratch that thing. Let me know if you succeed” he grinned, ruffling Peter’s hair and standing. He was already walking away by the time Peter realised he had no way of letting Tony know either way, and he watched helplessly as Tony slipped into a sleek, black car on the sidewalk.

That night Peter attacked the ball with several kitchen knives. He threw it down the stairs. He tried to chew it. He tried everything he could within the house to damage it, but nothing worked. Eventually he gave up, sitting on his bed and staring in wonder at the still perfectly smooth ball before he snuck an egg cup from the kitchen and put it in pride of place on the middle of his shelf.

He went back to the park on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday of the following week, but Tony didn’t show up.

He was already there the following Tuesday however, sprawled on his back on the grass with his eyes closed and his face tilted up towards the sun. Peter approached slowly, two bottles of cola tucked under his arm, Chemistry book tucked under the other. He was almost above Tony when the boy smiled, slow and sweet.

“Sorry I haven’t been around much, Pete” he murmured. His voice was thick, raspy. It was then that Peter noticed the dark purple bruises under his eyes, and the large, blotchy red patch on one side of his jaw. Peter shuffled nervously in the grass, dropping his head.

“Um…If you’re sick, we don’t gotta study today” he mumbled in response, shrinking when Tony cracked open one eye to study him. After a moment though, he was smiling again, pushing himself up onto his elbows to pat the grass besides him.

“I’m okay. We can still learn about atoms” Tony comforted softly, and that’s what they did. For over an hour, until Tony looked up, face falling as a tall, kind of fat man in a suit approached then. He looked like he should be dressed for a funeral.

“Mr. Stark, its time we should be going” the man greeted quietly. Peter’s pen slipped across the page when he twisted in shock, staring accusingly across at Tony with wide eyes. His best friend wasn’t just Tony, but Tony Stark. Son of Howard Stark, one of the world’s leading inventors and scientists.

Tony glanced across at him with a small, half amused and half sad smile, pushing to his feet. “I’ll be back on Thursday, kiddo” Tony hummed, dusting off his pants and following after the man, who gave Peter a polite nod in goodbye. As they walked, the man held out a tie and a jacket towards Tony, and it occurred to Peter for the first time that Tony had been wearing a smart shirt for once.

The next morning, as Peter sat at the table eating his cereal, the news turned to Tony Stark, dressed in a suit with a pair of deep red sunshades on. What remained of the Stark family announced that Howard and Maria Stark were dead - Victims of a terrible car crash due to bad weather. They had been buried late yesterday afternoon, a quiet and private affair.

Peter’s heart sank. Tony had must’ve gone straight to the funeral with that man. He fretted about it all day, nervously chewing at his pen and bouncing his leg the entire time. He wanted to go to the park, wanted desperately to see Tony, but Tony had said Thursday. The day couldn’t come quick enough, and Peter barely breathed as he stuffed his dinner into his mouth, ignoring May’s alarmed looks and almost headbutting her with how quickly he gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek, jacket half-on as he fled through the door.

Tony was waiting for him again, sat cross-legged in their spot. He was wearing the same shades he had been on the news the other morning and wore a large, soft black hoodie. He looked up when Peter came scurrying across the grass, mouth quirking into a friendly smile. Peter skid through the greenery, sliding onto his knees and crashing into Tony with almost enough force to knock him over as he wrapped his arms tight around him.

Tony stiffened under his touch, arms hanging hesitantly in the air, but Peter squeezed him a little tighter, tucking his head down, and after a moment Tony relaxed, arms coming loosely around Peter’s waist.

They met up every week after that, always in the same spot near the holly bush. They got through Peter’s book pretty quickly and Tony brought more, an endless supply of books on anything Peter could think of. He also brought Peter stuff, sometimes. A tiny, tiny 1ml science beaker from the lab at Stark Tower. A weird type of berry from Africa, where Tony went for the weekend while Peter was home with the flu.

Two weeks before his eleventh birthday, Peter looked up from his book on stars, squinting across at Tony, who was doodling a dog wearing sunglasses on his notebook. “I love you” he announced after a moment, confident. He’d asked Aunt May what it meant to love someone, and if it was okay to tell them. She’d told him it was when even the thought of someone made you happy. When you wanted them to be in your life for a long time and when you felt comfortable around them.

Tony paused, and then laughed, sharp and short. “No, kid. You love pancakes and your Aunt and sleeping in on a Saturday. You don’t love me”. Peter frowned and went to argue, but then Tony was quizzing him on what gasses stars were made up of, and it was dropped.

Peter lay awake that night, tossing and turning as he thought about it. He was pretty sure he loved Tony. He always looked forwards to seeing him. Tony made him happy and made him smile all the time. He knew Tony’s favourite colour and how he liked his toast and he always felt like he could tell Tony anything. That was love…Right?

Aged fifteen, Peter buried his face in Gwen’s shoulder and whined, shoulders slumping. His phone lay screen-up on the table, depicting an image of Tony stepping out of a fancy restaurant, arm wrapped tight around a pretty blonde girl. It was his second girlfriend of the year, a nice but kind of snooty girl named Alita.

“You’re jailbait anyway, Pete. Find someone your own age” Gwen advised, voice cool but not unsympathetic as she turned the page to her book. She was right; Peter had known Tony was too old for him the moment he realised that Tony’s smile made his tummy flip in a funny way. The moment Aunt may blew up when she found out just who Peter was always running off to study in the park with.

(Tony had promptly arranged for them both to have dinner at the Tower, and had immediately wooed Aunt May. She had come around to them being study buddies by the end of the night; how could she not? Tony was sweet, charming, quirky. It hadn’t taken Peter a year to fall in love with him, after all.)

“She’s just….I mean she’s obviously….She isn’t…” Peter couldn’t think of anything to say. Alita was actually pretty nice, if you got past her picky, high standards for living. She had been super friendly when Tony had brought her along on one of their study meets, and had been pretty interested in their current topic - Physics.

“Not you” Gwen finished for him, pushing his head up so she could give him one of her _Mom _looks. Peter scowled and looked away, stabbing his breaded chicken with a little more force than required. Alita and Tony had been dating for three months now, and each morning the heavy, cold feeling in Peter’s stomach grew. He thought back to being ten, to telling Tony he loved him in the middle of the park, to the way Tony laughed, like it was a big, bad joke.

They didn’t go to the park often, these days. Tony was now the big boss at his parents’ company and spent most of his days learning how to run it and making lots of big changes. They still saw each other each week, but school and a big company didn’t leave a lot of time for laying around in the grass.

“Have de-ageing or ageing machines been invented yet?” He questioned aloud, and shrieked when Gwen slapped him with her book. That was a no, then.

Tony was waiting for him at the school gates, leaning against the bonnet of a fancy car that Peter had forgotten the brandname of. He had rich, glossy blue shades on today and was wearing a loose, matching blue silk shirt. Several other kids were hanging around, phones out and obviously trying to engage.

Peter felt rather powerful striding across the grass and towards Tony. Tony straightened when he approached, uncrossing his legs and opening the car door with a flourish for Peter. “Your overpriced ride home, m’lord” Tony greeted, voice thick and soft as he mock bowed. Peter snorted, sliding onto the rich, buttery leather and tossing his beg into the footwell.

“You’re so embarrassing” he grinned, but he didn’t mean it. Not at all. His heart actually felt like it was going to burst. A few months ago for his fifteenth birthday Tony had given him an official internship at Stark Tower, as his personal assistant. It basically meant Peter could come around whenever Tony was there, and usually ended in them making up crazy things and ordering takeout.

It also meant Tony picking him up from school like this. Peter had lost count of how many times he’d daydreamed of just running over to Tony, jumping into his arms and kissing him. Tony was starting to grow a little facial hair now, a light dusting of stubble that made Peter feel all funny whenever he thought about it.

“So, how was school, Petercakes? That kid still being an ass? What is it…Flake?” Peter snickered, slouching back into the seat and pressing the button for his window as Tony started the car, peeling carelessly out of the parking lot.

“Flash” he corrected, with a one-shouldered shrug. “Its okay. I mean, he believes me about the internship now you’ve started picking me up, but. I don’t think _anything _would shut him up completely”. When Peter glanced across Tony tipped his head, that _challenge accepted_ smirk on his face, and Peter pointed at him.

“Tony, no.”

“Tony, yes” he shot back gleefully, before reaching across to nudge Peter gently. “Relax, I’ll probably just arrange a field trip to SI or something. Sing your praises in front of everyone. Hey - Bet I could get photos of you framed on my walls by the end of the night”.

Peter groaned, sinking lower into his seat.

Today’s Important Science encompassed going to the movies to see the new _Fast and Furious_ film, before eating their weight in ice cream to determine if chocolate chip mint was better than toffee crunch delight. Tony got them two small cones to go, and they parked up at the beach front, watching the lights twinkle off the dark water.

“How was your date with Alita yesterday?” Peter asked in the comfortable silence that fell, cringing immediately afterwards. Great. A perfect, private evening together and he was bringing up his girlfriend. Besides him, Tony cringed in tandem.

“We, uh…Actually broke up. That’s why we went out to dinner. As a break up…Thing” Tony mumbled in response, turning away and looking out of the window as he crunched the last of his cone. Peter almost dropped his in surprise, blinking across at Tony. But…They had looked so cosy leaving the restaurant.

“She was just…We weren’t right for each other, I guess. Y’know how it is” Tony shrugged after a brief pause, pulling a wet-wipe from the glove compartment and cleaning off his fingers. Fidgeting, mostly. Peter could relate. He suddenly felt itchy within his skin, too warm. Tony was single again. He bit at his lip, trying to think of what to say.

“Oh. Well…I still love you” he breathed out, stiffening when he realised what he’d said. Across from him Tony chuckled, reaching out to fluff up his hair and casting a fond look over the rim of his glasses.

“I’m glad me being a lonely old man doesn’t change the way you think of me” Tony responded, voice light and teasing. Peter shifted his gaze away, out to the illuminated waters. He didn’t know if Tony thinking he was joking was worse than Tony realising Peter had meant it. He stuffed the last of his cone into his mouth to avoid saying anything else, and another few moments passed before Tony begun to drive him home.

Peter leaned across the centre console when Tony pulled up, dragging the older man in for their customary hug. Tony was broader than he used to be, shoulders filling out, biceps bigger and rounder. His tummy was different, too. Thick muscle and lean abs in place of where he used to be slim like Peter was now.

His hair was soft, fluffy. A little longer than Tony usually kept it, and his aftershave was musky and heavenly when Peter nuzzled into the crook of his neck, squeezing tightly. “I meant it” he breathed against the warm skin there, closing his eyes tight.

“I do love you. I know I do. And you can laugh like you did last time, but that doesn’t change it”.

Tony briefly stiffened against him, before he relaxed, petting gently at Peter’s hair. “You don’t know love, Peter. You’re _fifteen_. You’ve still got years left to learn and grow and experience things. To learn love and how it feels. To find someone. Now go on, before May shouts at us again”.

Tony let him go, pushing his shades higher to his eyes again, and Peter’s heart broke as he scooped up his bag, fleeing for the safety of his bedroom. He cried that night, tucked up against his pillow, duvet pulled up to his cheeks. He knew what love meant. He had since he was ten, looking into Tony’s honey-coloured eyes and wishing he could look at them forever.

He knew he loved Tony. Knew belatedly that he always would. But this was the second confession of his love, and the second rejection of his feelings.

He fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, eyes red and cheeks ruddy. He stayed in bed for most of the day, avoiding his phone and citing illness when Aunt May lingered in the doorway, brows pulled in concern.

Tony picked him up on the Sunday. Neither of them raised what had happened, and neither of them acted differently to before. Peter supposed it was as much as he could hope for.

His twentieth birthday rolled around sooner than he could have expected, frantically finishing his entry exams for MIT and dealing with moving out of Aunt May’s apartment. His faux internship in his teenage years had developed into an actual job at Tony’s marketing and research department. Tony was thirty these days, a heart-stopper and a bondafide billionaire thanks to his savvy, smart business choices.

Where Peter had remained a baby-faced, slim figure Tony was tall and broad. He worked out daily and it showed in the expanse of his shoulders, the ripple of his biceps when he wore tank tops in the experimental labs. SI was branching into medical aid these days. Tony had grown his facial hair into artful stubble, thick and accentuating the sharp line of his jaw.

He was jaw-droppingly attractive, and Peter’s harboured love had only grown as he watched Tony go from a lost and uncertain young man into a grown, confident man. Other people had seen the change too, and Peter had lost count of Tony’s partners at this point. One-night stands and brief stints at relationships. Time together cut short or cut completely because Tony was whisking away his latest slice to some Malibu getaway.

Peter tried not to be bitter, even when Tony begun a two year relationship with Peter’s manager, Ms. Pepper Potts. He tried to be supportive. Tried to be understanding whenever Tony cancelled their plans. Tried not to let his sadness show at the dark hickeys he often found littering Tony’s throat. His love never waned, not even slightly.

He rejected any advances from anyone else, knowing that he would be unable to stop himself thinking about Tony. Imagining it was Tony taking him to the movies or Tony kissing down his chest. Gwen watched disapprovingly each time he batted away an attempt at flirting, but remained the supportive (if blunt) friend.

He was laying on his bed, frowning at his latest set of study papers when the door flung open and Tony strode in, pausing only briefly to toe off his dress shoes and to flick the door shut behind him. Peter jumped at the sounds, craning across to try and see who was invading. He really didn’t have the energy to fend off a robber at this point in time.

“I’m hosting a party at the Tower, for your birthday” Tony had announced, kicking Peter aside and taking his warm spot on the large queen that Peter had invested in. They still tried to make time for each other these days, but this was the first time Peter had seen Tony outside of work in over a week.

“Are you?” He asked lazily, frowning down at the now disorganised mess of paper. Tony dipped his glasses down and cast Peter with one of those flat _do you dare doubt me_ looks that Peter had learned early to not to second-guess.

And that was how Peter ended up on the balcony of the Tower’s penthouse, gazing out at the stars and desperately trying to distract himself from the fact that Tony seemed to be flirting with everyone in the room except for him.

It had been an alright party, all things considered. Tony had invited Gwen and a few of their mutual friends from Stark Industries, and apparently several other people he knew but Peter didn’t. They were all nice people, chatty and knowledgeable and all ready to drink until they passed out.

Tony had brought lavish gifts in a pile almost as tall as Peter, and the majority of the guests had all brought a gift or two along as well. Peter now had more ties, watches and bottles of alcohol than he had space for, but he was delighted at each one, taking a shot each time he opened a present as instructed

Tony had bought him a dorky lab coat (”in honour of how we met, Petercakes”) and two soft sweaters. A gorgeous, deep red tie that Peter was sure matched one Tony owned himself. Three bottles of expensive, fruity alcohol and several small baggies of various chocolate covered fruits. A pair of classy, dark shades and a massive bath set filled with fruity scrubs and fizzy bathbombs.

Peter had no idea ho he was gonna get all of it back to the Tower, and he vaguely mused on just leaving it all here for the night and picking it back up in the morning. He let his head loll against the cooling breeze, grip slackening on his flute of champagne. He’d lost count of how much he’d had to drink.

“What’cha Bruce Wayne-ing for out here, Peter?” Came Tony’s slightly slurred, drunk-high voice from behind him, and Peter couldn’t help stiffening a little, gaze lifting from his arms to the city line before them. His stomach twisted with the thought of Tony mingling in the crowd, chatting up girls and flirting with boys.

“I’m not Batmanning” he pouted, forcing himself to look when Tony came up half-besides him and half-behind him. Tony smelt like expensive whiskey and musky aftershave. His hair was mussed from the sleek style it had been in earlier, and three smudged lipstick prints dotted the line of his jaw.

Peter turned his gaze away.

“Out here along, gazing moodily at the dark night, while a party in your honour is in full blast behind you” Tony hummed, leaning against Peter’s shoulder heavily as he joined him in staring out at the twinkling lights of New York. It took a moment for Peter to hone in on the scent of smoke, and he turned his head in alarm, only to find Tony grinning across at him, holding out a tiny cupcake with a single candle.

“I’ve already done the cake” Peter mumbled, watching the small flame flickering in the breeze. Tony had custom-ordered a massive cake, with icing and sprinkles and little white chocolate cookies and all other sorts of decoration. It had taken Peter eight breaths to blow out all the candles. Tony met his gaze, eyes dark and pupils blown.

“I know. But…This is special. Just for us” Tony murmured, still watching him. Peter’s heart immediately begun to race, pounding against his ribs as he met Tony’s stare.

“Make a wish then” Tony coaxed, a lopsided grin quirking his mouth as he shifted his weight against the balcony. Peter kept his eyes as he listened, putting all of his faith and effort into thinking his wish before he leaned down, blowing the flame out with a short, sharp puff.

“What’da wish for?” Tony asked not even a second later, plucking the candle and tossing it aside to the floor as he offered Peter the cupcake. Peter hesitated, taking it and staring into the icing while he gathered his courage. Should he say it? Didn’t that ruin the magic?

He shifted uneasily, looking back out across the city as he sucked in a breath. “I wish you believed me when I say I love you” he spat out in a rush, clutching the cupcake so tightly that it crumbled under his grip, icing folding across his knuckles. Tony stiffened besides him, pulling away a step and turning to face Peter, but he continued before Tony could say anything.

“I’m old enough to know love. I have been since I said it the second time. And…And I wish you loved me back. I really do. I know you don’t and I’m not gonna force it but I just…I _mean _it, Tony. And you know I do. _I love you_. I always have, and I think I will for a long time. Maybe always. But I just…That’s what I wished for. That you stopped treating it like a _joke_”.

Part of the cupcake fell away in a sad, dramatic slide and Peter forced himself to drag his gaze up, away from the view and across to Tony. Tony, who looked…_Devastated_. The expression on his face was enough of an answer for Peter, if the look in his eyes had failed to get the message across.

“_Peter_…I’m _sorry_, I…”

Peter let the rest of the cupcake fall, dropping his gaze to his trembling hands as he shook his head, unwilling to hear it. Unwilling to hear _another _rejection. He spun on his heel, almost stumbling as he fled for the door, pushing through and into the bright, loud warmth of the room. He stuck t the wall, desperately skirting anyone who noticed him with an apologetic smile as he fumbled for his jacket, forgoing the elevator for the stairs.

He made it down four floors before he sank against the railing, gasping for air. His vision blurred with tears and he dragged himself to the elevator, hitting the button miserably as he stared down at his icing smeared hands, willing the crushing sensation to give him enough time to get home. His phone buzzed three times in his pocket, but he ignored it, stepping into the elevator and huddling into the corner as it carried him down to the foyer.

The night security looked surprised to see him, but obligingly ordered a car to be brought around, waiting with him and helping him into the back when it arrived. He wiped at his eyes, faking not feeling too good when the driver (Harry? H-Something) asked if he was alright.

When they arrived outside his house, the driver got out and helped him up, patting his shoulder comfortingly. He caught Peter’s eye, expression almost…Knowing. “Whatever he said or did, kid…Don’t hold it against him _too _much. Tony hasn’t been right in himself since his parents. He’ll make it up to you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to him”.

Peter almost threw up on the spot, mumbling in response and darting for his door. The driver waited until he was inside, safe, before he left. Peter sank back against the door, finally giving into the burning sensation in his throat and _howling _as the tears begun to pour. _Three times_, he thought miserably.

_He doesn’t love you. Never did. Never will_.

A distant memory re-called itself to the front of his mind and through the haze of depression Peter fumbled for his phone, slick fingers sliding on the screen as he took several attempts to log into the Stark employee server. The announcement was still there, and his heart thumped with an icy determination as he scanned it.

Stark Industries was opening a new PR division in Malibu. 121 positions available.

He flipped to his email, thumbing in Pepper Pott’s ID. Despite her and Tony’s break-up she had remained a valued member of the company, double-acting as Tony’s PA and a member of HR.

His heart sank lower and his blood run colder with each word, until he felt numb as he hit _send_. He let his head fall back against the door, phone sliding to the carpet and he squeezed his eyes shut.

_It was for the best._


	2. Chapter 2

Pepper Potts allowed him 24 hours to nurse his hangover before she stormed his apartment at 10am the secondary following morning. And nurse it Peter did, crawling out of bed only for a shower and to stuff his face with toast. He kept his phone off and hidden away in his desk drawer, unwilling to deal with the ramifications of his birthday and his choices that night. 

He couldn’t lock Pepper away in a drawer. 

He was back in bed after showering, listlessly watching _Hell’s Kitchen_ re-runs when the sound of a key at his door reached his ears, alarming him into sitting upright. The only two people who had a key to his place were his Aunt May and Tony. Neither of which were desirable visitors right now. 

Tony, for obvious reasons, and his Aunt because that meant Tony would have called her. He was just considering the merits of leaping from his bedroom window when the door swung open to reveal Tony’s ex, who waggled manicured fingers at him in greeting as she stepped aside to allow three large, burly men past. 

Each of them was laden with his gift bags from his birthday, and Peter tried not to feel sick as he pushed himself to his feet, hugging himself through his baggy sweater as he leaned against the doorframe. His kitchen filled fast with bags, and Pepper sweetly dismissed the men when they were done, all serene smiles until the last one shut the door on his way out. 

And then she rounded on him. 

“_Malibu_?” She asked, arching one plucked brow menacingly. Peter shrank away, avoiding her gaze as he retreated back into his room. She was close behind, perching delicately on the edge of his bed. He curled himself against the headboard, hugging his knees to his chest and doing his best to think of what to say. 

She softened, reaching out to pat his knee comfortingly before laying the key besides his ankle on the pillow. “I thought you might like this back. I wouldn’t put it past him to come waltzing over here trying to play the white knight”. And that…That was part of why try as he might, Peter could never have brought himself to dislike Pepper. 

As it turns out, she was completely understanding, listening to him whine and producing a soft tissue from her pocket when he begun to cry. By the time the hour was up she was already drafting emails, reassuring him that it would all be fine, and that she would make sure he never saw hide nor hair of Tony while the transfer was underway. 

“I don’t agree with you running away…But I do think a change will be good for you. Steve’s already been informed you’re his new hire, and Tony’s already opened my email telling him to piss off” Pepper informed him, tapping away as he sat there, listening to Gordon Ramsey call a girl an idiot sandwich. 

“Steve?” He asked, head tipping as he turned his gaze to her. She paused for a moment, as though trying to recall something, before she snapped her fingers. 

“Of course! You won’t have met him yet. We stole him from Oscorp. He’s our new Head of PR, and you’ll be transferring as his PA and Head of Social Interactions. You’ll love him; he’s a walking dreamboat”. 

By the time she stood to leave, it was largely all settled. The paperwork (or, the electrical equivalent, because Tony hated paper) was ready to go and Peter would be moving to a luxurious apartment close to the new PR building, financed for the first year by Tony (”Because it’s the least he can do for being a heartless bastard”). 

Peter took her arm before she could leave, pressing his phone into her palm with pleading eyes “Could you…Anything he’s sent me. I don’t want to see it. Can you…?” He couldn’t finish, but she understood, leaning in the doorway as she turned his phone on. The vibrations were immediate, his phone going haywire with what had to amount to at least twenty messages. 

Her lips pressed together and her brows pulled as he tapped away, but after several long moments, she handed his phone back. The only remaining notifications were from Gwen and his various social media platforms. “If I were straight, I think I’d marry you” he admitted, and her tinkling laugh echoed even after he closed the door. 

Pepper had signed him off for two weeks’ paid leave, to get his things in order and to spend time with his friends and family before he left them. Gwen was ostensibly furious, pacing his hallway and raging about Peter allowing a man to dictate his life; but Aunt May was softer, angered but more so saddened. 

“I knew you loved him” she admitted, hugging him close to her side. She still wore the same perfume she had when he was little, fruity and a little powdery. He breathed it in slowly. “I watched you grow up with him, and I watched you fall in love with him. I don’t agree with it; he’s ten years your senior. And he turned out to be an ass. But…I support you, Peter. Always. And if a venture to Malibu is what you need to move on, then I’ll download that FaceTime thingy for my phone and we can watch New Amsterdam on Saturdays through a shitty connection, instead”. 

Peter had cried so hard his eyes were bloodshot and his voice was raspy by the morning. sitting in his bedroom with Gwen and packing his things into neat boxes. He was duct-taping a label onto a box of shirts when Gwen’s voice broke through his thoughts. “What’s this?”. He looked up, and found her twirling the vibranium ball between her fingertips, eyeing it curiously. 

In all these years, it hadn’t so much as gone dull. 

“Tony gave it to me, the second time we met. It’s a rare, precious metal. Not much of it around” he smiled sadly, catching it when she tossed it to him and turning it over in his palm. After a moment of sad reminiscing, he tossed it into his ‘trinkets’ box, listening to the dull thunk and reminded of the sound it made, hitting the grass.

True to Pepper’s word, he didn’t so much as get an email off Tony in the two weeks he prepared to move. In fact, Tony wasn’t even on the news or in the papers for the duration, seemingly locking himself away in the Tower, much like Peter wished to lock himself away in his room. 

Part of Peter was torn. The desperate longing for him, even after the hurt. The desire to run to him, to beg him to forget, to squirrel back into the tiny place he had in Tony’s life and pretend to be content there. He wondered if Tony hurt as much as he did; or if Tony was fine. If Tony was secreting girls in and out. 

As he sat in the plane, watching the sky drift past, slow and steady, he wondered if Tony was looking up, watching the plane leave. Wondered if Tony regretted anything, like all the little things Peter held close to his chest. He wondered if the words he never got to say were playing on loop in Tony’s mind, like the endless soundtrack in Peter’s. 

He shuffled on his seat, pulling out his earbuds and pressing them in the blare away the intrusive thoughts. Tony Stark didn’t care, and the sooner Peter became accustomed to that, the easier his life would be. He bore no ill will towards his friend, but Peter knew that staying would only harm them both in the long run. 

Most of his things had been sent ahead on a cargo flight, the boxes received at his new home by a trusted employee of Pepper’s. It would be the same man that would be waiting for him at the airport with the rental car that Pepper had also charged to Tony’s account until he could find a suitable one of his own; after having to sell his. 

Peter felt guilty thinking about the sheer amount his transfer had cost, but Pepper would hear none of it. _He’s a billionaire, Peter. This is pocket change to him, and he owes it to you, at the least._

He gathered his one remaining duffel bag and shouldered it as he headed for the main foyer. Not for the first time, he felt as though his heart was doing its best to leave him, pounding away at his rib cage. The sick feeling was back with force, his stomach rolling and his mouth wet with the thought of all of this. The memory of Aunt May clinging to him at the departure gate, bawling until her mascara dribbled to her chin. 

Of Gwen, as composed as could be right up until he grabbed Peter’s arm as he turned away, tears falling as she pulled him in. It wasn’t goodbye forever; return flights to Malibu weren’t all that expensive and on Peter’s salary he could definitely afford to visit often, but it still felt like some modicum of leaving that life behind. 

Malibu’s airport was busy, and Peter spun helplessly, unable to spot his name on any of the signs. Had the man left? Was he in the toilet? Christ, had Peter flown out too early? He couldn’t have, Pepper had arranged it all. And then, as the sinking feeling begun to overcome him, a voice shouted loud above the general hustle. 

“Coming through! Outta my way! Operation: Rescue Pretty Boy underway! Ma’am, that shirt is a criminal offence and needs to get out of my path. _Burn it_. For the good of the country. _Coming through_!”

And the crowd spat out a tall, dark-haired man who batted away a slow-moving couple with his sign. Peter caught a brief flash of his own name and startled as the man righted himself, a dazzling grin on his face. He was rather attractive in a puppy-ish sort of way, soft features and broad shoulders. His arms moved with defined muscle and he grasped Peter by the biceps, dragging him in for a hug. 

“Oh, god! You’re so _small_! I thought for sure I was gonna lose you. Honestly, the people here are like sharks. But worse, because sharks are actually pretty awesome”. He blabbled almost as fast as Peter himself was capable of, and despite his initial flare of panic he found himself grinning into the front of his shoulder, inhaling the soft musk of his aftershave. 

“Scott Lang, by the way. Pepper Potts gave me your face so I’d know who to find” Scott introduced, lifting his phone to waggle one of Peter’s Instagram selfies at him before he slipped Peter’s bag from his shoulder and onto his own, hand sliding from Peter’s shoulder to take his hand, fingers lacing as though they’d been friends all their lives. 

“C’mon, lets get outta here. You hungry? I’m starving. There’s a burger joint on the way”. And that was that. Peter found himself bundled into the front of a new looking estate car and driven post-haste to the nearest Steak ‘n’ Shake. Scott didn’t pull up, but hit the drive-thru, taking Peter’s order without argument and pulling up on a quiet road for them to eat. 

“So. Heard you’re coming to us with highest compliments from the Big Guy himself” Scott begun, cheeks puffed out with a generous bite of burger. He had sauce on his chin and the hilarity of it almost stopped Peter from feeling sick at the words. The highest compliments. A bitter laugh threatened to bubble outwards, so he took a violent bite of his own burger, staring ahead at the road. 

“That so?” He asked quietly once he’d chewed, idly stirring his fries around in the packet. Scott gave a soft sound in response, looking at him curiously, before he shifted, swallowing his own generous mouthful and putting the car into gear. 

“Stevie is gonna expect the best from you for that, by the way” he continued, and Peter knew it for the subject change that it was. “He can seem a bit up-tight and…_Righteous_, I guess. But he’s an epic dude. And those _biceps_. Unf. You wanna lick ‘em” Scott carried on, and Peter snickered as he nibbled at a fry. Biceps, huh? 

The journey to his new place was over quicker than Peter would have liked, the realisation of where he was hitting as Scott pulled up opposite a two-story, modern looking detached house. There was a neat lawn out the front and a driveway with a beaten up truck. The house itself looked gorgeous, soft hues of grey and blue on the outside. 

“Well, here we are. Casa de Parker. One fancy place you picked” Scott beamed, gathering his food packaging as he kicked open the door to the vehicle, the one in the driveway beeping dutifully as he approached it. Peter sat in the passenger seat, staring listlessly across at the house. It was gorgeous. It was his. It was…

He was jerked from his thoughts by his door opening, and Scott was suddenly crouched besides him, beaming and lifting a hand to angle two sets of keys. “C’mon, pretty face. I’ll grab your bag”. Scott held out a hand and after a brief hesitation, Peter took it, fingers sliding together as Scott hauled him to his feet. The act of strength was simple, but Peter still found his spine tingling with it, and his cheeks blazed at the audacity of his mind. 

Scott traded his hand for the keys, and they were cold and light in Peter’s palm as he walked up the neatly edged path towards the door, leaving behind the sound of Scott rummaging around in the trunk. Up close, it became immediately clear that the house had been freshly decorated. The paintwork had no marks, the lawn was freshly cut and the door had no marks or scuffs. Peter’s heart clenched and stung anew, and he was still staring at the door when Scott came up behind him, standing close. 

“Nervous?” Scott asked softly, his expression understanding when Peter twisted to glance at him. It helped some, having someone else here, and Peter steeled his nerves before he turned again, sliding the key home to the lock before he could chicken out again. It turned smoothly and with a soft _snick_, and all it took was a light nudge for the door to swing open. It revealed an entry hall, all glossed, light wood. An ornate chandelier hung and paintings lined the wall. 

Before Peter could step forwards, Scott’s arm slid around his shoulders and the other palm ran flat along the backs of his thighs before wrapping around him, hoisting him easily up off the floor and into a bridal carry. Peter shrieked, almost dropping the keys as he threw an arm around Scott’s broad shoulders. “What-!” He yelped, but he was giggling even as he swatted at Scott’s chest. 

“This is what people do, right? For new houses?” Scott asked, grinning dopily down at him before he stepped forwards, manoeuvring Peter carefully through the threshold of the house. Peter could feel his muscles against his body and was flushed red even as he laughed, breathless by the time Scott set him gently down. 

“Married couples do that, their first night home” Peter revealed, and Scott looked adorably disbelieving, enough that Peter was laughing all over again. When he had calmed, he ventured onwards, Scott following behind like a leashed puppy. To the right was a stairwell that led up. Straight ahead seemed to be the kitchen, and Peter headed for that, first. It was cool and modern, with all the appliances he would need.

“I was sent ahead, a few days ago, when the paintwork was complete. The house is full of everything you need. It has dishes, cutlery. Toilet paper upstairs, chords for electricals. Anything else I could think of. There’s some shower stuff upstairs, too. I didn’t know what you liked so I guessed. I got a lot of weird looks sniffing everything” Scott spoke, opening drawers as he did so to show that he had, indeed, filled them. Peter was grateful, for he had left most of his household things with his Aunt. 

“I also…” Scott announced, flicking open the fridge with a flourish. Peter’s eyes bugged at the sheer amount of groceries. It would take him weeks to eat it all. Fresh meats and vegetables. Drawers of fruit and chocolate and soft drinks. Mineral waters and milk. Cheese and a few bottles of wine. “Pepper said you liked reds. She sent a list”. Scott stepped aside as Peter approached and pulled out a bottle. He turned it to see the label, and gave a wistful, sad smile. 

There was no way Pepper could’ve known that Peter loved a glass of Apothic in a hot bath. 

Scott gave him a tour of the house. The furniture was new, luxurious. The bath was huge and the house had two bedrooms upstairs. It had a moderate garden out back, planted with fresh flowers and shrubbery. His room had been decorated suspiciously akin to that of his old house, even down to the four pillows and the extra blankets folded at the bottom of the bed. Peter had begun to cry then, and Scott had sat with him well into the dusk, chatting endlessly and forming a solid, warm presence at his side. 

When Scott left, he stopped in the doorway, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from a back pocket and offering it to Peter. “My number” he grinned, with a lewd wink. “I’m in work in the day, but I can slip out as I please. Call me any time you need me, okay? No matter the time. If you want, we can ride together for your first day. Steve and the width of his shoulders can be kind of intimidating the first few times”. 

And with a last, squeezing hug, Peter was alone. Exhausted though he was, sleep refused to come, and he found himself crying throughout the night like he had the first time he’d moved out, curled atop sheets familiar, but achingly new. Even here, so far away, he found Tony invading his life, echoing through his new home like a ghost. Pepper could not have committed his room to such detailed memory from her brief, one visit, and Peter found himself at a loss with what to do with the knowledge that Tony had been _involved_. 

Somewhere around 6am, with sunlight filtering through his curtains, he finally passed out. It was a blissful, black sleep and he awoke groggily somewhere around the afternoon, his throat dry and his eyes sore. He fumbled blearily for his phone on the other pillow, where he had left it charging. He had several messages from Aunt May, which he cringed at. Fuck. He’d promised to call her when he landed. A few from Gwen, ranging from gentle encouragement to ominous support. He was so focused on scrolling that he almost bypassed it. 

Almost. 

**1 Missed Call - The King - 08:00**

His heart almost stopped. The King was Tony’s contact name. He threw his phone aside so violently it snapped from its charger, clattering to the floor. Suddenly, hideously sad, Peter burrowed back into his covers. The sudden onslaught of emotions exhausted him once more, and when he awoke for a second time, it was evening. His stomach cramped and his throat felt like sandpaper, leaving him with no choice but to venture down to the kitchen. 

He prepared a salmon and rice dish and rinsed it with a glass of mineral water, sitting in the lounge and looking out at the garden. He almost felt peaceful, but for the itch of the notification under his skin. It would still be there, whenever he grew bold enough to look at his phone. 

Why now, Tony? 

Why at _all_? 

He turned on the TV, watched until it grew dark, and forced himself back into bed around eleven, determined to settle his sleeping pattern before his week of respite was up. He started work bright and early the following Monday, and he was not going to risk it, nor ruin it. His phone remained untouched until the morning, when the guilt of abandoning his Aunt gnawed at his bones enough to have him gritting his teeth, floundering across the plush carpet for the device. 

He swiped the screen wildly with his eyes closed, and felt a childish sense of relief when he opened them to a blank screen. He text Gwen first, a lengthy paragraph about his journey and Scott and the house - promising more and videos once he had fended off Aunt May. And fend off he had to, immediately scolded the moment she picked up the phone. 

“_Peter Benjamin Parker_. Who on this green Earth do you think you are? Its been a _whole day_! _A day_! I was this close to phoning the international police to report you missing! I had to call Tony. His assistant answered - lovely woman, we’re meeting for brunch next week - to find out if you were dead! How can you-” 

Peter reclined, listening to her rant with a broad, bright grin. He couldn’t help it; her voice bloomed warm in his chest and suddenly it seemed as though he was sat at the kitchen table again, head hung in same (to hide his grin) as she told him off for his latest mishap. He finally cut her off after ten minutes, apologising sincerely for his neglect. She softened immediately, and they spoke for almost two hours about the house, the journey, about Scott and his fridge and how he feared his neighbours suspected him a vampire. 

May’s laugh echoed in his ears still, as he keyed in Scott’s number. He hesitated, before shooting off a quick text, closing his phone and heading for a shower before he could second guess it. He found the products in a small closet within the large bathroom. Fruity body washes and luxurious shampoos and conditioner. Scrubs and gel and mousses. He eyed it all with a smile, making his choice. 

His phone was flashing impatiently when he emerged, a soft towel slung at his waist. 

**Peter! You text! I got super worried when you didn’t. I almost came over but Steve told me that was creepy and invasive. He’s probably right. How’s the house? Broken in the new bed yet? ;) ;) - Scott **

Peter laughed at the text, cheered immediately. He forwent an instant reply, opting instead to scrub his hair dry before he ventured to his closet. The majority of his things had been unpacked by the movers (or Scott?) but his more personal items like clothing and toiletries and books/devices were still boxes, stacked neatly in one corner of his room. He rummaged for clothing and pledged to unpack the rest at some point this week. 

And so his day begun. He ate breakfast and cleaned what little mess had gathered and wandered his street to explore. He text Scott continuously and Google Mapped his way to the nearest convenience store, and at night he made a beef ramen soup and drank it with wine and laughed as Scott described his day. Sleep came easy and light. And so his week begun. 

Scott came over four times in the following six days, three after work and one on the Saturday. Peter discovered that for work he wore the most ridiculous, gaudy shirts he could find with hideous, eye-offensive ties and that Steve cursed him to the grave for it. He learned that on weekends Scott dressed soft, in worn jeans and shirts layered like a Winchester. His hair was always messy and he ate like a gorging toddler and he was the worst magician ever. 

Peter loved it. They went grocery shopping together and Scott helped him work the dish washer and they re-painted the fence on the Saturday and stuffed themselves silly with takeout on each time. Pizza and Thai, Chinese and then fried chicken. Scott showed him around the local town and drove him past the PR Tower (it looked so alike to the Stark Tower his hands had begun to shake) and told him all about Steve. 

Steve was 6″ and a moose. He had shoulders like a Cadillac and eyes as blue as summer skies. He was blonde and often wore his hair short and fluffy. He could never find a shirt that fit right and he attended protests and demos in his spare time, when he wasn’t volunteering at shelters or fundraisers. Peter had listened, sceptical that Steve actually even existed by the end of it, he sounded so perfect. Scott said it all with a dreamy tone to his voice and a twinkle in his eye that Peter couldn’t help but tease him over. 

“Sounds like you think he’s perfect” Peter prodded, grinning as they lapped at their frozen yogurt. 

“His boyfriend does, for sure” Scott had agreed, and that was how Peter learned about Bucky. Also 6″ and a moose with ridiculous shoulders. Known as ‘Tall, Dark and Deadly’. He had brown hair, short and fluffy and to his cheekbones. Miraculously he had shirts that fit (but regardless, often opted for a red henley that resolutely did _not _fit) and he was hilariously wary of anything small and fluffy. 

“He’s gonna lose it at you” Scott had cackled gleefully, and Peter had tried to figure out whether he ought to feel complimented or insulted. He spent Sunday unpacking his clothes box and painstakingly selecting an outfit. The only guideline was ‘smart’. He opted for his slightly loose, baby blue, silk shirt and a pair of slim-fit, high waisted back jeans. Smart but comfortable, and hopefully an outfit to impress. At the least, it impressed Scott, who actually dropped his morning bagel when Peter opened his door on Monday morning. 

“Holy shit. Its twink heaven” He sighed dreamily, dressed himself in a pale cream shirt decorated with dancing pigs. His tie was plain, but was the ugliest shade of mustard that Peter had ever seen. “Great, isn’t it? Steve’s gonna hate it” Scott beamed when he caught Peter looking, and then they were walking arm in arm to Scott’s car. The journey was pleasant, filled with awful pop music and Scott’s frankly terrifying driving skills. It was a warm, sunny morning, and Peter relaxed against the door, tipping his head to the breeze and breathing deep. 

He felt relaxed. Content. For a short while, until the looming Tower came before them, Tony was far from his mind. But the mood came crashing down the moment he saw the structure, the sleek _Stark PR_ emblazoned across the top floor. His heart sank, and the air turned bitter on his tongue. He tried not to show it, but Scott tossed him a concerned, quiet look as they pulled into the parking lot. It was eerily familiar, walking through the sleek glass doors and into the foyer. Stark Industries awards and pictures hung on the walls, potted plants were dotted here and there and the entire place had the same fresh, clean look. Peter half expected Tony to come gliding through with a coffee in hand. 

“So, we’re actually pretty quiet at the moment being a new building and all, but by the end of the month we’ll be responsible for all of Stark Industries’ PR. Steve is obviously the Department Head, which means he basically runs us lot, confers with the Boss Man himself for promotional activity, and that we get to bug him with all the fun stuff” Scott filled the silence as the elevator took them up. _Boss Man_. Tony would love that. It was just the right amount of stroking his ego. 

“So we’re not…Mr. Stark isn’t gonna be around much?” Peter found himself asking, staring resolutely out of the thick glass. Though he didn’t miss Scott’s curious gaze from the corner of his eye. He cringed, but Scott thankfully avoided asking for any details. 

“Uh…I shouldn’t think so. PR isn’t really his…Thing. He might swing by in a month or so to make sure we’re established as we should, but other than that…I can’t see him making a habit of it”. Anything else Scott might or might not have said was revoked when the elevator doors opened to reveal a neat, open office-space. At the far end of the floor, a large panelled-window room with ‘Steve Rogers - DH’ in frosted writing faced them. Scott’s hand fell to Peter’s hip, squeezing lightly. “Hey, relax. Stevie doesn’t bite. Unless you’re a hamburger. In which case, fucking _run_”. 

Peter snickered despite himself, and allowed Scott to nudge him out of the elevator. The carpet was plush under his shoes, so soft and new he felt he was sinking into it. It was so familiar and he clenched down on the feelings swelling. At lest this place smelt like fresh air and air-spray and not Tony. Not mint and aftershave and candy, because Tony was always prone to carrying around snacks. 

“My room is third down on the right, if you wanna go wait in there while I grab some files? Yours will be opposite mine. Or…There’s two other spares, so. You could pick either of those, if staring at my mug all day is gonna have you running to Corporate with therapy bills” Scott hummed as they walked, and Peter snorted, but shoved at him lightly. 

“Shoo. Before I have to flee and bury myself in a strong whiskey to forget your morning breath” he teased. He didn’t miss the way Scott huffed into his hand and sniffed as he sauntered off. He cackled as he walked, keeping a careful count on the number of door that he passed. Perhaps it was because of this that he didn’t necessarily pay attention to the space in front of him. Neither, it seemed, did the figure that stepped quite suddenly from a room on the right. 

All Peter saw was a looming shadow that seemed to block most of the hallway light, and then he ran smack into the flesh equivalent of a brick wall. The wall had the audacity to grunt as Peter went ricocheting backwards, his cheek and jaw throbbing. “Fu-!” He managed, even as his heel caught and he begun to tilt backwards. He never made the fall, however. Two hands came shooting out with an impeccable reflex, catching him by the hips and putting an effective stop to his backwards downfall. 

Peter couldn’t help reaching out, clinging to the solid forearms in his peripheral as he tried to stop the world from careening about. He looked up. And up. And up. 

Ah. Steve. 

Looking down at him with an expression caught between sheepish and concerned, was quite possibly the hottest man Peter had ever set eyes on. Barring Tony. No amount of Scott’s hilarious similes could have prepared him for just how tall and broad the man was. His shoulders seemed to go on forever and Peter was highly suspicious the doorways had been lifted to allow him normal movement. He had a jaw like a ruler and startlingly blue eyes. 

_They’re not that honey-whiskey-amber that you love, though. _

“-ew I should’ve been looking. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt? Your face is all red. Aw, man. I punched you with a pectoral, didn’t I? I’ll never hear the end of this off-”

“Hi” Peter breathed, gathering his legs beneath him so he was no longer just dangling in Steve’s grip like some sort of Dirty Dancing move. Steve’s jaw clicked shut and he gave a meek smile, withdrawing his hands when he realised Peter wasn’t in danger of rolling down the hallway like a bowling ball. Peter found himself leaning back just a little anyway, to look the man in the eye. He had slightly long blonde hair that was pushed back, a dusting of neat stubble that shaded his cut jaw. His neatly pressed shirt looked one bulging stitch away from just splitting open, and his dress pants left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Peter knew. He was practically face-level with it. 

“Hi” Steve repeated, head ducking a little to look at Peter from under a layer of long, light lashes. How the man was a PR Head and some global-scale model was beyond Peter. He was saved from his mouth betraying his thoughts by Scott suddenly appearing at his side, jabbing Steve accusingly in the sternum. 

“I leave you for _five minutes_ and you T-bone the new guy? _Really_? For shame, Steven. _For shame_”. 

Remarkably, even as Peter snickered, Steve managed to look more abashed, head dropping with an inaudible mutter. Scott reached out to poke at the light redness gently, before he ushered them both towards the office. 

“Honestly. I am _not _qualified to be a parent”. 

And that became Peter’s day. Steve was easy going and spoke in a soft, rumbling voice that Peter felt he could drift off to. They spent most of it in Steve’s office, an airy space with artwork covering the walls and a cactus on his desk that not only had a little sombrero, but a moustache and shades, too, when Steve spun it around. 

And so begun their first week. Scott picked him up each morning, though they alternated on who drove, and Peter would sit back and watch Scott heckling Steve for most of the day, provoking him with increasingly hideous attire and equally as awful jokes. Steve kept their offices stocked with snacks, and fast became an easy friend, comfortable and reliable, like Scott. 

For the most part, they didn’t get much done that first week. Or…Steve did. And Peter somewhat tried to at least get himself in order. But on the Wednesday Scott brought in a pack of Uno cards, and their day was lost to learning that Steve was incredibly competitive, and actual card shark. 

“Mother Theresa would roll in her grave” Scott muttered darkly, holding aloft his stolen card. Steve didn’t even look guilty. 

It occurred to him on the Friday, sitting on the edge of Steve’s desk and watching him and Scott argue over whether or not a photo-frame was tilted, that he was _happy_. Tony had been far from his mind these past few days, and Peter no longer felt suffocated under the weight of his love. His heart still ached, to think of him. To lament the loss of that brilliant laugh, the snarky quips and the way Tony felt against his side as they lay in the grass. 

But perhaps, just perhaps, he was healing. 

Scott gave him some peace over the weekend, at least from a physical visit. His phone still chimed routinely with memes and updates on Scott’s current venture - Building a bird bath in his yard. It was, predictably, going terribly. It wasn’t so much a bird bath as some sort of 3D Picasso fruit bowl. 

None the less, it kept Peter entertained over his weekend, which he filled with grocery shopping and pottering about the house, finally unpacking the last of his things and making the choice to re-decorate a little. It felt too close to home, back in Queens, and this wasn’t that. This was new. A fresh start. 

Monday came around and Peter drove them to the Tower, windows down against the morning heat. Steve was waiting for them in his office, brandishing a StarkPad and box of cupcakes. “Alright. The good news is that they had the pink iced ones back in stock. The bad news, is we have our first official PR directive”. 

“And so it begins” Scott announced, grinning wolfishly as he rolled up the sleeves of his neon green shirt. It was, so far as tasks went, a relatively easy one. The directive had come from Pepper, not Tony, and Peter relaxed a little at the lack of his name, scrolling through the projection slowly. 

They were to officially take over the Stark Industries’ social media, barring of course, Tony Stark’s access and personal accounts. Tony wanted more of an interactive presence for the company, more of a personality than just his own face. Easy enough, in all reality. 

“What about weekly features? I mean, we’re the three ‘faces’ of the PR team, right? What if once a week we did a personal feature. Like a post about ourselves or a questioning hour, that kinda thing?” Peter suggested as he lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Scott flailed where he lay opposite him. 

“Genius! I love it. And we could introduce ourselves with a live feed or something”. 

Steve agreed from where he sat, upside down on his chair, arms folded across his torso. They did their best thinking in odd positions, it seemed. They begun to draft ideas, until the room was full of holograms and Steve’s whiteboard was stuffed with ideas and plans. And two giant dicks, thanks to Scott. 

Life, from there, continued not unlike how it had begun. Except now Steve was also there in the morning, wearing expensive, dark shades and looking like some sort of Calvin Klein model, despite the bag of donuts in his lap. Work was more play, and lunchtimes were free game for anything, including a mini game of basketball with paper balls and waste-paper baskets. 

Peter felt alive, in ways he hadn’t since he first realised that Tony was utterly and genuinely never going to love him back. Sitting between Steve’s legs and laughing at Scott’s antics, donut frosting on his cheek and with plans to go out that evening, he felt truly at home. He ached for New York, still. For Gwen and for Aunt May and even…Even for Tony, if not just for the way he felt comfortable and right in Peter’s life. 

And sometimes, he felt stupid and dramatic for running away like this. But he didn’t regret it. Not at all. Or perhaps…Not as much as he expected to. 

“Are you sure you’re good to come out tonight, Peter? You don’t have to” Steve commented when Scott was busy drawing more offensive items on his whiteboard. Peter rolled his eyes and tipped his head back, swatting at Steve gently. 

“Oh, please. I’ve been here what, four months now? Longer? I think its time I went out. Besides, I have yet to meet your boyfriend, and that needs to happen” he responded earnestly, to Steve’s amused, broad grin and a hair ruffle. Peter wasn’t entirely kidding, though. He had yet to meet Bucky, and that was the worst. 

“You’re the worst” Steve reminded him lightly, and Peter snickered, dropping his gaze back to his StarkPad. Yeah. He probably was. 

Especially when he stood at home, in nothing but the skin his mother gave him, eyeing his closet and wondering which outfit would get him fucked the fastest. He wasn’t a complete virgin. Not really. He’d had Harry Osborn’s fingers in his ass up to the last knuckle at one of Tony’s parties and he’d given a few blowjobs here and there, but. 

Nose scrunching, he found his mind wandering to the past as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring belatedly at his open closet. 

_“Really? Can I not just wear literally any of the gaudy outfits you’ve already bullied me into allowing you to buy me?” Peter complained from where he lay on his bed, shifting to look at where Tony was tossing clothes over each shoulder into respective piles of ‘no’ and ‘burn post-haste’. _

_“Those are all last-season by now, sweetcheeks. If you’re going to be my arm candy for an event, you’re going to be _the _arm candy” Tony huffed, casting him a sardonic look over his shoulder.   
_

_Peter had huffed and puffed, but two hours and several thousand dollars later he was stood in his room, reaching out to pull Tony’s hands away from his face in order to reveal the final outfit. Tony’s eyes widened a fraction and he reached out, settling his hands on Peter’s hips. _

_“Well look at you, Parker. There’s a body under those hoodies” Tony had smirked, hands roaming and eyes grazing as he turned Peter around and around like a ballet dancer in a music box. “Fuck arm candy, kid. You’re a whole gourmet feast”.   
_

Peter was shaken from the memory by his phone pinging, and he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his eyes as he checked it. He had an hour. He eyed the soft drape of powder pink and baby blue silk hanging in his closet, and when he stood, he moved to the opposite end. Within the half hour, he had his outfit and his accessories, and he moved to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and swiping a little styling mousse through his hair. 

The result was an elegant sweep of thick curls in a slight quiff. He applied a dewy moisturiser and a coat of lip balm and took a dry mascara wand to his lashes to smooth out the hairs before he headed downstairs, crossing the hallway just as the doorbell rang. Scott wasn’t coming with them tonight, already being dragged to a family event for the night. It was just him, Steve and Bucky. 

Sucking in a breath, Peter pulled open the door, and looked up to Steve’s smiling face, which morphed quickly into a stunned expression as he eyed his colleague. Steve’s gaze raked over him blatantly, and he looked pleased by what he saw. It made a faint pink rise to Peter’s cheeks as he shuffled. “Uh…Good? Too much?” He asked, gesturing to his outfit. 

He’d gone for the slim jeans of his first day, paired with a fitted shirt that had long, vertical mesh panels on the torso that showed a tinted view of his lithe body. He wore a simple pendant necklace designed to look like the moon, a beautiful, round orb that Tony had got him for his 16th birthday. Laying slightly above it was another necklace, a gilded, tiny rose. Gwen’s present for his 14th. 

“G-Good” Steve ground out after a moment, voice rough. He coughed lightly and reached up, raking his fingers through his hair and messing up the soft style he’d given it. “Yeah. I mean, you look good, Peter. You ready?” Steve asked, lifting his gaze again to Peter and with a cheeky bite to his lower lip, Peter raked his gaze over Steve once in return, and nodded, stepping out and almost against Steve’s chest before he turned, locking the door behind him. 

Steve’s car was a classic Chevrolet, glossy black and purring like a wildcat. Peter sunk into the soft leather of the passenger seat with a groan of approval, briefly reminded of Tony’s obnoxious collection of classic muscle. Steve was a stable, confident driver. “If you’re drinking…?” Peter questioned after a moment, running his palm along the door. Steve gave a soft chuckle in response. 

“There’s a private parking lot. This girl’ll be safe while my drunk ass gets a cab back” Steve paused for a moment, then glanced across at Peter. “Well. When we _all _get a cab back. Unless you find a hot piece of meat to take home and chew” he joked lightly, and Peter’s cheeks flamed, even though he snickered. The darkness of the night cast Steve in an almost angelic glow, and Peter stared for several seconds longer before turning away. 

Club Exxx was lit in soft purples and blues from the outside, with two large men in fine suits monitoring the outer area. True to his word, Steve pulled around and into a small, private parking lot, where another gentleman in a suit waved them through. “Huh. They know you, or?” Peter asked as Steve pulled up, reaching for his buckle. Steve cast him a soft chuckle. 

“Me and Bucky like it here. It suits our…Tastes” he admitted, and Peter shifted to eye him curiously, watching the way his cheeks flushed. Huh. That was _interesting_. But then Steve was getting out and opening his door for him like a gentleman, and any teasing remarks he had in mind were chased away by a sudden, coy shyness. When they approached the doors, the bouncers greeted them with warm smiles and nods, and stepped aside. 

“Hey, Benny. George. How’s the kids?” Steve asked as he passed, slowing to entertain a brief chat with the two men, before steering Peter into the darkened room. It was luxurious, all blue and purple lights, a huge dance floor and an even bigger bar that seemed to wrap around most of the interior. There was a balcony level and people everywhere, and Peter’s breath was stolen from his lungs. 

“I’m going to run to the bathrooms real quick, stick to the bar and I’ll come find you again, okay? Bucky should be here soon” Steve spoke into his ear, and Peter covered his shiver by adjusting his jacket. Steve walked him to the bar, and that was where he left him, lounging against the glass top and observing the dancefloor. He wandered a little, looking at the seemingly endless array of drinks on offer. 

His distraction was probably why he bumped into someone sitting at a stool, and he reeled backwards, already apologising. The guy that turned was moderately handsome, in an average kind of way. Sandy hair and a tight V-neck. His eyes blatantly roamed Peter and then he stood, holding out his hand with a smile. “Being knocked into by a pretty thing like you? Best part of my day, darlin’” the guy responded as Peter took his hand, shaking it lightly. 

“Oh! S- I really am sorry, anyway” Peter managed to stutter out, blinking a little as he withdrew his hand. He’d have to not have eyes in order to miss the additional once-over than the man gave, seemingly deciding Peter was pretty enough for him to gesture to the empty seat besides him, sitting back onto his own. 

“Well, hey. Since you bumped into me and all, the least you can do is let me buy you a drink” the guy added with a smile that was a little less friendly and a little more flirty. Peter shuffled, looking over his shoulder to check for Steve, but he couldn’t see the man amongst the crowd. He supposed that it couldn’t hurt, but he also didn’t want to lead the man on. “C’mon, its just a drink. I’m not inviting you into the bathrooms or anything” the guy coaxed, and Peter hesitated for a pause longer, before nodding, sliding into the seat. 

“Let me guess,” the man paused, squinting at Peter and pretending to size him up. “Something fruity and not too strong?” Peter felt his cheeks heat, but nodded, thumbing his phone in his pocket. He was at the bar. It was fine. Steve would find him, and it was just a harmless drink. When it was slid in front of him, it was a dark orange and decorated with little fruits. As he reached for it, the guy nudged him lightly and nodded over his shoulder. “Get a load of that guy dancing” he prompted, leaning closer. 

Peter twisted on his seat and looked around. There was lots of men dancing. He turned back and gave a half-hearted laugh though, reaching for his drink once more. There was a sudden warmth against his back and an arm slid around his own, batting the drink aside and in front of the man. Startled, Peter twisted, finding himself covered by an older, much larger man. 

A much hotter man. 

He was draped over Peter like a blanket, though there was a few bare inches between their bodies, and he was staring at the guy with an intense, stormy gaze. He had a sharp jaw and plump lips, and jaw-length hair that was dark and fluffy. 

“Hey, what the Hell?” the guy exclaimed, leaning back and scowling at the man, who kept his crouch over Peter. His gaze levelled even harder. 

“Don’t drink that” the new man informed Peter, glancing at him briefly. He had steely, grey eyes that softened slightly when Peter met them, and then an arm, sturdy and gentle, was sliding around his waist and encouraging him to slip from the stool. “He spiked it when you turned away”.

Peter sucked in a breath as he stepped off the stool, gaze flicking between the men. For all he knew, it could be an elaborate scam. A tag-team trick. The guy at the bar looked furious, rising to his feet and stepping forwards. “The fuck I did, man. Get away from him, we’re just enjoying a drink!”. 

They guy with grey eyes straightened, sliding around Peter’s body and squaring up to the guy from the bar. He stood a good few inches above him. A good deal more above Peter. He reached across and picked up the drink, holding it out to the guy. “Then drink” he replied evenly, cooly. 

Peter shifted a little and leaned around the man, watching curiously. His heart hammered in his chest, and a few people had stopped to watch. Before his eyes the guy seemed to stammer for words, alternating between glaring and snarling, before he turned on his heel, sans the drink. Peter watched in disbelief, his heart sinking. 

Christ. His first night out and within five minutes, some random guy was trying to _spike _him. He could feel his eyes stinging as he sank back onto his stool. Grey Eyes set the drink down with a nod to the bartender, who had begun to approach, and turned to him. After a moment of hesitation, Grey Eyes held out his arm. “Come on. I’ll take you to Steve. He’s waiting on the other end of the bar”. 

Peter jolted, looking up right a frown. Steve? Steve had sent this guy? He shuffled on his seat, looking up at the man. Tall. Broad. Dark haired and handsome. As if reading his mind, the guy shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. 

“Bucky. My name is Bucky”. 

Peter blinked, jaw falling open. Bucky fucking Barnes. _This _was Steve’s boyfriend? “Holy fuck. You _are _hot!” He blurted before he could stop himself, and he snapped his jaw shut with a look of horror, his face lighting up a deep red. He could just imagine Scott rolling on the floor laughing. To his credit, Bucky just looked a little non-plussed, and then smirked at him. And…Damn, if that didn’t make Peter’s thighs press together just a little. 

Before either of them could say anything, Bucky’s eyes slid up, over and past Peter. He twisted out of reflex, and sagged in relief to find Steve making his way towards them, three drinks balanced in his hands. He was grinning at them, broad and sweet, and Peter slumped against the bar, breathing out as Steve came up against his side, setting down the drinks. 

“You too busy flirting with him to bring him back to me?” Steve asked, shooting Bucky a grin over Peter’s head as he wrapped himself around the younger man, in a warmer, more familiar version of what Bucky had done earlier. Bucky merely snorted and moved closer, leaning over Peter to press a kiss to the edge of Steve’s jaw. 

“He’s _your _twink. I was just the delivery boy” Bucky shot back, reaching under Peter’s arm to grasp one of the drinks. Steve slid one of the remaining two to Peter, and it was a cocktail, a pale pink to the orange of the last one. Peter eyed it for a moment before taking a sip. They stayed there for a while, chatting over the thump of the music and making their way through shot after shot, drink after drink. After an hour or longer, Peter was pleasantly buzzed, and knew a little more about Bucky, who hovered like a bodyguard over them as they drank. 

And who got progressively closer to Steve, who in turn got progressively handsier, until he was tugging at Peter’s sleeve. 

“Come dance, Peter!”. 

And that was where it begun. 


	3. Chapter 3

Peter couldn’t quite remember exactly where it started. Maybe from the moment Steve joined him and Bucky at the bar. Maybe when Steve dragged them both to the dancefloor. Maybe when they shifted seamlessly to fit Peter between them, a respectful two inches between their bodies that decreased as the night went on. 

Steve was a good dancer, and didn’t care about looking goofy. Bucky was more of a streamlined, sensual dancer, only really moving around when Steve drew closer to him. Peter didn’t mind occasionally being squeezed in or nudged aside so they could kiss. In the cloudy, slow-mo haze of his drunkenness, he was just content he got to see it. 

“Kid should go home. He’s too deep” Peter caught Bucky mumble against Steve’s jaw, swallowed when two sets of eyes fixed on him, assessing. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to stay. The music thumped through his chest and the sight of Steve and Buck sliding against each other had him half-hard in his pants. In the pleasant throes of his state, he wasn’t even thinking about anything else. 

“I’m okay” he urged, shaking his head and sidling closer to bump against them playfully. “I look worse than I am” he added with a light shrug, and Steve’s gaze slid back to Bucky with a slow smirk and a head tilt as if to agree. The argument - if it had been one - stopped there, with Steve pulling Peter back between them. 

They shimmied around each other for a little while longer, until the call for a drink had Peter sliding away with a soothing pet to Steve’s shoulder. He wasn’t accosted by any creeps this time, and the bartender cast him a friendly smile, refusing his debit card. “We’re not all jerks, don’t wanna give you a bad impression” he spoke over the music. “Especially not if you’re Stark’s”. 

_If he was Stark’s_. Peter smiled to hide the plummet of his stomach and turned away, downing his drink faster than he knew he ought to. He dropped his glass off on an empty table and begun the journey of finding Steve and Bucky again. He was just pushing between a group of people when a gentle hand brushed at his arm, and he turned to find an attractive girl eyeing him with a cross between a smile and a smirk, beckoning him closer as she swayed her hips. 

And, well. Peter might be gay, but he could enjoy himself a little, and he sidled closer, allowing her to spin him around. The dancing was more flirtatious and joking than it was sexual, and Peter was enjoying himself so much that he startled when a set of thick arms slid around his waist. The girls’ gaze flicked up, over his head, and her smirk grew as she backed away, tossing him a wink before rejoining her friends. 

“Disappearing off from us to find someone?” Was rumbled into his ear with an amused tone, and Peter twisted, looking up to find Steve curling over him from behind. Peter rolled his eyes with a laugh, swaying in Steve’s grip. He became vaguely aware of Bucky circling them, boxing him in from the other side but staying a respectful few inches away. 

“She’s not my type, but I can have fun” Peter huffed back, and Steve rolled his eyes affectionately in response, squeezing Peter a little before resuming the semi-threeway sort of dance they’d been doing earlier. 

“Don’t let Scott get jealous” Steve teased, eyeing him in a knowing way before leaning across to mouth lightly at the corner of Bucky’s lips briefly. 

Peter wanted to laugh it off, but…_Did _he like Scott? That way? Did Scott like _him_? They’d grown so close in a rapid amount of time, blatantly comfortable with each other’s touch and presence. Scott helped him pick outfits and kissed his hair and Peter sprawled himself over him at every given opportunity. 

And there was no denying Scott was attractive, even in that boyish, charming way. But then…Peter thought Steve was attractive too, in a bolder, underwear model sort of style. 

And _Bucky_. 

Peter gave a useless whine that the music swallowed as they moved against him on either side, his chest to Steve’s and Bucky a gentle, bare heat against his spine. They were kissing again, light, slow movements, and Peter couldn’t take his eyes away from the two plump mouths moving together. The way that Bucky licked briefly into Steve's mouth before the kiss softened again, like neither of them could help themselves but didn't want it to get too dirty with Peter between them. He tipped his head back, shamelessly watching when he knew they couldn’t see him. 

He wasn’t even aware that he was tip-toeing, leaning against Steve’s arm and chest for balance until his lips brushed the line of Steve’s jaw, the barest hint of a touch that had Steve biting down on Bucky’s lip in surprise, baby blues flashing open. Bucky hissed above him, planting a hand between Peter’s shoulders to steady himself as he pulled away, the indent of Steve’s teeth underlying his mouth. 

Fuck. _Fuck_. Peter felt sick, his cheeks hot like a wildfire as he dropped back down, blinking up at Steve in horror. He’d _kissed _him. While he was _kissing his boyfriend. _He just couldn’t do anything right, could he? Falling in love with Tony, running away, kissing a man who’s boyfriend was currently licking at his swollen lip. 

“Peter,” Steve begun, his expression a curious mix between confused, concerned and surprised. Peter tried to jerk away from him but only managed to squeeze himself back against Bucky, who’s hands flew to his sides. It was too late, though. Nestled in the small of his back was the firm, heavy sensation of a half-hard cock. 

“What happened?” Bucky asked, voice a little rough as he shifted away, but only enough that he wasn’t essentially using Peter as a cock holder. He kept his grip on him, gaze flicking from where Peter staring in growing terror at the floor, and where Steve stood before them, two fingers pressed to the spot Peter had kissed. 

“I kissed him” Peter cut in, tears welling in his eyes as he shifted, looking up at Steve, who’s expression softened, before he twisted, looking up at Bucky. “I kissed his jaw. He was kissing you. I just - I didn’t…” His bottom lip begun to wobble as he fought not to cry, and Bucky gazed down at him with an unreadable expression, before turning Peter around fully. 

“Well, I think its kinda rude for you to mack on him and not me” Bucky announced after a moment, and sheer confusion over-rode the building hysteria. “I think I ought to get one too, and then we can call it even”. And. What? 

Bucky ducked down, cheek sliding close to Peter’s mouth as he breathed_ its okay_ into Peter’s ear, veiled under the pretence of offering his jaw. In a daze, Peter tipped his head, letting his lips brush the soft rasp of stubble that lined Bucky’s jaw, before the older man pulled away. 

“Lets take him home” Bucky spoke over Peter’s head, and for once, Peter didn’t argue. 

They caught an Uber outside, where the fresh air stung Peter’s cheeks, and Steve bundled him into the middle seat, squishing him between him and Bucky, an arm tight around his shoulders. True to their word, they took him home first, Peter mumbling out his address while sinking further into a pit of despair. 

“We’re gonna get him inside, could you hold here, please?” Steve asked the driver politely as he slipped out, reaching back inside to grasp at Peter’s arms, pulling him gently out onto the sidewalk. Bucky followed, trailing them as Steve guided Peter to his own door. None of them had mentioned the kisses yet. Peter felt numb with tension. 

He fumbled his key into the lock, head ducked and shoulders hunched, and had just pushed open his door when Steve took a gentle hold of his shoulder, turning him around with a soft “_Hey_”. Peter tensed, looking miserably up at the man, who cupped his cheeks gently and stooped. Peter almost passed out, eyes crossing and chest jolting with a sharp inhale, but Steve only pressed a gentle, sweet kiss to his forehead. 

“Its okay, Peter. Get inside, drink some water, go to sleep” Steve smiled encouragingly. No sooner had he stepped away, Bucky stepped into the space made, and Peter had to reach out, clutching the doorframe. This was it. He was gonna get punched. Chewed out. He was gonna - 

Bucky ducked down, hot breath fanning Peter’s cheek before he tipped his head, pressing the softest of kisses there. “Steve’s right, Doll. Its okay. Get some rest” he murmured lowly, and then they were gone, walking hand in hand back to the Uber, though the vehicle didn’t pull away until Peter had slipped through the door and shut it firmly behind him. 

He cried himself to sleep, then. After restlessly wandering the house until the sun was bright and bold in the sky. The panic didn’t die until he collapsed onto his bed, still mostly drunk and horrified as he dialled Gwen. She was grouchy and mostly asleep when she picked up, but she listened to his slurred rambling, and it was to her soothing voice that he finally fell asleep. 

When he awoke late in the afternoon, he had two three texts, one from Steve, one from Scott, and one from Gwen. 

**Captain Steve:** Hey, Peter. Just checking in to make sure you’re okay. You drank a lot last night - Can’t imagine your stomach feels great. Try to rehydrate and eat something. Let me know if you need anything!** [10:21]  
Gwen:** Let me know when you’re awake again, dickhead. We’ll have an actual call where I can understand more than 8% of what you’re saying. Also, you snore. Loudly. Love you lots, loser. **[07:03]  
Moron Puppy: **So since you didn’t text me last night I’m gonna assumeyou were (or still are??) dicked down to he nines, so Hell yeah! Go Peter! Get back to me when you have the chance; Steve was uptight about the details so I’ll have to live vicariously through you. **[11:44]**

Peter snorted softly at the last one, even if looking at Steve’s text made his stomach physically roll with anxiety, guilt and horror. There was no direct mention of The Event, but Peter felt it was implied within _you drank a lot last night_. He shifted with a groan, burying his face into his pillow. Today would be a write off, then. His stomach churned and his head felt like he’d run skull first into a brick wall. He only just managed to text Scott and Gwen back before he fell asleep again. 

He slept pretty much all of Saturday off and crawled out of bed on Sunday, better for the sleep but still swathed in emotional agony. He did as Steve advised and drank several glasses of water throughout the day, eating a stocky breakfast and focusing on cleaning the house, doing his laundry and generally preparing for the week ahead. He ought to have shopped for groceries, but the anxious part of his mind hissed hat he might run into Steve or Bucky there, and he forwent it. He could go after work. 

And then, Monday. 

He spent the morning perpetually thinking he was going to throw up, and it vaguely occurred to him that he could phone in sick, but. Awfully, it reminded him of running away from Tony. He couldn’t make this a pattern. He couldn’t keep desperately using people for love before running away. And so he perched on his doorstep and waited, one leg jiggling as he sat. 

It wasn’t long before the rumble of an engine caught his attention and he looked up, swallowing hard. It was Steve’s car, of course. Because today was Steve’s turn to drive. And tomorrow it would be Peter’s. And the day after that; Scott. Peter could already see Scott in the passenger seat, head bowed as he stuffed down a doughnut with great intensity. 

Right. Life goes on. 

Peter slipped into the backseat with his head ducked, but with the most sincere smile he could manage. It was a normal day. Nothing new. If Steve wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, then that was fine by him. 

“So, hotcakes. Pick up any juicy meat last night?”. 

Except for Scott. Scott was like that aloof Uncle that showed up to one in ten family gatherings, drank whiskey from the bottle and ran a farm. Peter cringed, but Steve merely laughed softly and shook his head. 

“Unfortunately, two mean old men decided he’d had enough and took him respectfully home. I do recall a gorgeous redhead making some moves, though”. 

“I’m gay” Peter reminded them on instinct, to Scott’s delighted snicker. But already he was relaxing, lulled into that safe sensation that his friends brought. Okay. So maybe Steve was ignoring it, but not in a bad way. And it wasn’t like Peter had lay one on his mouth, right? It was fine.

And it was, almost all morning. They were particularly rushed off their feet with managing Tony’s latest wild act. It had been relatively quiet on his end since Peter had begun working, and he could help but stare at the de-brief before him. The man had gone diving into the water feature of a restaurant with two prostitutes. 

Peter tried to ignore the hot, sharp spike of betrayal and guilt and disgust that curled within him. Of course. It was just the same old Tony Stark, wasn’t it? Outrageous, rich enough to do whatever he wanted, lavish enough to require _two _prostitutes. Peter heaved a great sigh, and set to work brainstorming. He tried hard not to look at the photos, but several times in a row he found his pen had fallen still and he was staring at the slope of Tony’s jaw, the way his wet suit clung to his body, the way his hair lay flattened to his head as he laughed, a pretty Middle-Eastern woman throwing water at him. 

“Peter?” He jolted so hard his pen slid across his screen, and he looked up to find Steve leaning in his doorway. And Peter had always known Steve was attractive, but now, after that night, it was all he could see in the man. The sharp edge of his jaw and the bulge of his biceps. The breadth of his shoulders in comparison to his slim waist. It took him several long moments to form a response. 

“Yes?” He asked, tapping at the screen to undo the hideous black streak across his mindmap. Steve came further into the room at the apparent invite and came right to Peter’s side of the desk, sitting on the edge and smiling down at him softly. 

“I just wanted to see how you were. You didn’t message back after Friday. How was your head, after? You should’a seen Bucky when he woke up. Looked kinda like a pissed off raccoon”. Peter couldn’t help a snicker even as his stomach flopped, and he shrugged, running a hand through his hair. 

“It was…It was fine. I drank water. It was fine” he responded weakly, unsure of what to do with himself. What he didn’t expect was for Steve to reach out, grasping his jaw with a tenderness completely unwarranted. Peter tried to resist but ultimately gave in, turning his head slowly with the pressure and looking up at Steve. 

“Hey. We both told you it was fine. You’d had a lot to drink. We should have kept an eye on you better, especially after that asshole”. Peter opened his mouth to speak but Steve shook his head gently. “And the rest? I told you. We both did; its okay. No harm in getting kissed by a cute kid, right?” And Peter’s heart sank. 

Of course. That’s all he was, even at twenty. Just a dumb, cute little _kid_ nobody wanted to love. He managed a weak smile and pulled his head away, dropping his gaze back to his work. “I just…It was a mistake, right? Can we just not talk about it? You go back to your hot boyfriend and I’ll go back to my…Mindmap and Starbucks” he sighed, looking over his desk with a forlorn expression. He didn’t even have a cat. 

“Peter”. Fuck. Steve’s hand settled on his shoulder, sliding around to the back of his neck, thumb pressing gently to encourage him to look up. Peter did. And…Oh. There was something _knowing _in Steve’s eyes, something a little darker. 

“When I say that its okay, and that me and Bucky don’t mind…Its not a _dismissal_” Steve breathed, leaning just an inch closer as he tucked aside a stray curl, before he rose to his feet. “Don’t forget you’ve got to C.C Ms. Potts into the shared drive”. And then Steve was gone. Peter had barely fifteen minutes to relax before Scott came sauntering into the room, kicking the door shut lightly behind him. 

“So. What happened? And, please. I know I have one brain-cell, but I’ve had enough time for it to figure out something is up” Scott greeted, hopping onto Peter’s desk and offering him a packet of gummy candies. Peter groaned and collapsed over his desk, burying his head in his arms. 

“I kissed Steve on the jaw. While he was kissing Bucky” Peter lamented, voice muffled but understandable. Scott paused mid-chew, evidently thinking over the words. 

“Okay” he responded slowly, setting down the bag of gummies. “In like a…'Lets threesome this shit’ kind of way or like a ‘we’re all drunk and semi-flirty but its platonic’ way?”. When Peter held up a single finger, Scott made a soft, sad sound. 

“Oh my god. It happened. You were blinded by the pectorals and the baby blues” he whined, and snickered when Peter drew a pen from his pot and threw it at him, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay! Cease fire! But seriously. I mean…I get he’s total cum fodder, but if he’s not into it, you gotta move past the abs, dude” Scott added gently, reaching out to pat him comfortingly. 

“Well, that’s the thing…” Peter begun, and explained the confusing events of the night, and the even more confusing events just passed. By the end of it, Scott looked non-plussed. 

“Wait. So I’m the only one you haven’t kissed? Is it the lack of car-width shoulders?” Scott pouted, and Peter rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet and rounding the desk. He meant to aim for Scott’s cheek, but found himself leaning forwards, pressing a firm kiss to Scott’s mouth. 

And. 

Huh. 

It was _nice_. 

He meant to pull away, but he stayed, hands coming up to Scott’s jaw as he stepped closer, let his lips part just _slightly_. Scott made a muffled, surprised sound, but didn’t pull away, hands settling on Peter’s hips. They continued to kiss at a gentle, leisurely pace, only breaking when a knock at the door had Peter jerking away. 

“Guys? We gotta get started on proposals and communications” came Edward’s voice, one of the other PR employees. Peter flushed, fingertips raising to his mouth, but Scott only gave him an easy smile and stood, gesturing to the door. 

“C’mon. A meeting means you can stare at Steve’s pecs and insult the Big Boss at the same time”. 

And God, what would Peter do without Scott? 

The meeting went as any other had before all the kissing; they tossed around ideas and grumped about deadlines and valiantly tried to prevent Scott from drawing detailed cocks over everything. By the end of it, Peter had almost entirely forgotten about it all. Even on the drive home, neither man mentioned anything. Steve argued with Bucky on the phone over what type of pasta they were eating tonight, and Scott sang obnoxiously and deliberately off-key to the radio. 

It felt like home. 

He felt guilty afterwards, in the confines of his own home. Wondered how they would all move on from this. God, he couldn’t stop, could he? Couldn’t stop ruining every good thing that came into his life? When it got so bad he begun to cry, he phoned Aunt May, and told her everything in between wet hiccups. 

She had a few choice words for him, but none that he expected. Although she did call him a moron several times, which he supposed was fair. But she was soft, understanding. _Love isn’t a single paved road, Peter. It forks and it bends and it doubles back on itself often. There are no signs - You just have to keep going and you’ll find your destination eventually. _

He fell asleep with those words ringing around his head, nervous but somehow also soothed by her wisdom. It might not be the road he wanted, but it was taking him somewhere regardless. 

He didn’t expect that road to land him in the doorway of his office at lunch time, staring at one Bucky Barnes, who was sprawled in his desk chair like a King surveying his kingdom. He looked good - Clad in a tight, red Henley and slim fitted dark-wash jeans. His hair was soft and fell around his face like a lion's mane. 

His smile, when it came, was both soft and predatory. 

“Ah, Mr. Parker. I’ve been expecting you” he greeted in a faux ‘Bad Guy’ manner, and Peter relaxed a fraction, inching further into his office. 

“Mr. Barnes” he greeted in an equally terrible accent, edging around the walls to reach his coat. Bucky watched him in an amused way, but also the way that Peter imagined a wolf watched its prey. 

“You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll listen. But I have a feeling you won’t. So I’d like you to come here and listen” Bucky hummed, gesturing to the general space in which he took up. Peter swallowed hard. Fuck. This was it. The talk he’d been waiting for. The disgust. The dismissal. 

“I can hear you thinking from over here, Doll” Bucky drawled lowly, and Peter flushed from hairline to hip. He obliged after another hesitation, creeping tentatively across the carpet until he stood about two foot from Bucky. This seemed to please the man, who eyed him up and down before tilting his head curiously. 

“Answer honestly. That night, did you want to kiss Steve? Properly?” He asked, and Peter went a few shades paler. He didn’t want to lie. He was done with fucking up. So he nodded, just once. A tiny thing. Bucky hummed, and moved on. “And would you have wanted to kiss me?” He asked. Peter’s pale became a flush, but he nodded again, fingers twisting in his tie with a death grip. 

“So. If, theoretically, me and Steve were to say that we talked about it over the course of the weekend in-between fucking out the fantasies those talks gave us, and that we concluded should you give us consent, we’d both like to fuck you, what would you say?”. 

Peter nearly bit his tongue off, staring in shock across at Bucky, who’s expression softened a little. “Oh, come on now, Doll. As if you don’t know you’re a walking wet twink. Steve hasn’t been able to shut up about you since you arrived” Bucky informed him sweetly, and Peter had to take several steps back, leaning heavily against the wall. 

This was. This was. 

Bucky was rising to his feet then, padding closer, until he bracketed Peter against the wall. He smelt like musky aftershave and leather and Peter flattened himself back against the wall, looking up at Bucky, who offered him a syrupy, slow smile. “Gotta use those words, Babydoll. Me and Stevie are real big on consent” Bucky murmured, and Peter’s breath left him in a rush. 

This was real. This was happening. or…Was it? Was this just a trick? A cruel play to get Peter to admit it so they could get rid of him? The panic made his throat close and sting, but he nodded slowly once more. 

“_Yes_” he managed to rasp, and Bucky’s smile grew sweeter, softer. For a fleeting moment it reminded him of Tony, of the soft yet triumphant way that he would smile when Peter finally gave in to doing something outrageous or accepting an expensive gift. It made Peter’s hands shake where they were pressed to the wall. 

“Alright, Peter. Breathe. You’ll get us, Doll. We’ll take care of you”. 

And that was how Peter found himself in the hallway of his own house, pressed between two bodies, thighs trembling as he came, with Tony’s name on the tip of his tongue. 


End file.
